The Women
by fiftyshadesofdevingray
Summary: Women had always been a constant struggle for Tate Langdon. Mentions of Violate


**Summary: Women have always controlled Tate Langdon in one way or another.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story, if I did then well Tate would have never been that horrible rubber clad super villain. If you read lingeringlangdon/violetsmurderhouse rp well I got the one idea from that because well I am lingeringlangdon. **

**A/N: Just a little oneshot I had floating around my head.**

** "The Women"**

**I**

Women had always controlled Tate Langdon, at a young age he realized that it was normally in a negative light or at least that's how he saw his mother. He found that it was easy for her to make or break him. Some days she would be warm and kind to her "perfect little angel." The next she would be cold and rarely acknowledge his existence, usually when he was being unruly and obnoxious as most six years old were. Six, he remembers that was the age she lost all respect for his mother.

His father had left only week prior to the incident and his mother already had another boyfriend, just Constance's type. He was tall, handsome, and blonde and what seemed a decade younger or so it seemed in Tate's young eyes. Richard, a pilot, he was a nice man, well to Tate at least but that's just how it all started. All the attention he had gotten, the weird little trinkets that Richard would bring him back from his adventures, the alcohol he would let him sip when his mother wasn't looking.

But then things seemed to take a turn for the odd, at night he would sneak into his room, the absent touches, that would become more forceful over time. Less gentle, more uncomfortable and personal, at first Tate didn't mind as much he hated to admit it, it felt good but then something felt off. It may have been the moment that Richard's hands traveled into his pajama bottoms; the prodding which he kept to himself and Richard's face distorted in a sick sense of pleasure. Then one night it happened, he wore the same spider man pajamas, squeezed the same stuffed parrot, but he was ripped in two that night or so it felt.

Tate pulled himself out of bed the morning after it happened, his pajamas stained with blood, the pajamas that never quite felt right even after they were washed repeatedly. He limped to the breakfast table, the pain in his back the worst physical thing that he had felt in his young life, the moist feeling in the seat of his pants, the bleeding that had yet to stop. The odd feeling that he had been violated in the worst possible way, though; at that age he didn't know how to voice it yet.

Tate had intended to tell his mother what had happened the moment he stepped into dining room, but then he saw her, looking awfully cozy with _him_ at the table; sipping her coffee and looking awfully lovey dovey. It was at that moment that moment he learned that it would never be him, she would never protect him, and there would always be somebody else.

**II**

Tate thought that Nora Montgomery would be a change, for a while it seemed like she had actually cared about Tate. She was a kind to him, actually tried to protect him from harm, but then puberty set in. Then death, and even after death he would have done anything to help her and that meant anything.

One evening Tate had found Mrs. Montgomery crying in the basement, it wrenched his heart or at least what he had left of one. She sat their bawling over her baby, her baby that had never chance. Tate felt somewhat of a connection with this baby, that thing in the basement. Like that baby, Tate never had a chance; Tate would give another baby a chance. Tate would help Nora; he would win her love back.

The suit was tight but he had to wear it, he had to stay hidden in the shadows. He had to go unnoticed for he was about to get Nora what he wanted, from a person who probably shouldn't have been getting it from. He knew he shouldn't have been getting it from, his therapist's wife.

Tate entered the room, he really wasn't into the whole idea of fucking this woman, no matter how scantily clad she was dressed. No matter how busty her chest was, or how she rubbed lotion up her long toned legs. She looked up at him, a smirk plastered on her face but somehow he couldn't manage to get it up.

"So you're not talking tonight?" the woman says, as she struts her nightgown clad body over to the bed. "I can be kinky."

Tate doesn't speak, he just moves closer to the bed thinking of anything he can to help get it up. He thinks of everything he can to get himself going, Cristina Ricci, helping Nora (although that seemed to have the opposite effect), then thoughts of the lanky girl he had met earlier in the bathroom filled his mind and the blood that surrounded her. The suit became tighter, and with an unzipping and a thrust his virginity was gone, and a baby was made, Nora's wish fulfilled.

**III**

Violet Harmon was unlike any girl he had ever met, from the moment he first saw her he knew she was different. She didn't need to show off every inch of her skin to let people know she was beautiful. She didn't play dumb, she was fierce, misanthropic, but loud when needed. She was an ass kicker, a ball buster, a psychopath's wet dream.

He stirred feelings in Tate that he didn't know he had, feelings that he actually cared for another human being, love, that and she gave him a raging hard on. It was as if she could do no wrong, she was an angel, the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Sadly, he failed when it came to her, yet another failure that cost her life.

He would protect her in another way, he would keep her death hidden until he had no choice. Even if it meant strutting around in that awful fetish suit, bashing in the head of a man he had come to see as a father figure. He had already wronged him, what was one more time?

But then she found out anyway, her sobs in that moment would echo through his mind forever. The shakes that went through her soul when she saw her body gently tucked away in the crawl space would be etched into him for eternity. But the words that followed hours later would really be what remained with him forever.

"All this time I thought I was the one trying to protect you."

Finally, a woman had tried to protect him; making her superior to anybody he had ever met. _Different._

**A/N: Eh, I tried. Not that good.**


End file.
